


The Encounter

by kenopsiaa



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenopsiaa/pseuds/kenopsiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Ellen's murder still unsolved, Neal must visit his past to find answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> My first White Collar fic (:

A week had gone by since Ellen's murder, and the FBI still hadn't found any traceable leads. 

Neal was growing impatient; he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit around like this and wait for answers. He wanted to help out with the case, but Peter had been keeping him at a distance for reasons Neal couldn't fathom. 

It was around noon on Tuesday when Peter called him into his office. Neal all but ran up the stairs, screeching to a halt in the doorway. "Yeah?" He asked, a little too eagerly. 

After motioning for him to sit, Peter sat back in his chair. "You know that we haven't gotten any leads on Ellen's murder," he began, tapping his fingertips together. "Her killer did a hell of a job wiping any prints and making sure not to leave any evidence. I hate to give him credit, but...he's slick."

Neal's heart deflated slightly at this, but he managed to hide it. "So, what do we have?"

"Well, as Jones was looking into Ellen's WitSec file, he thought of someone we could go talk to."

"Who?"

Peter looked at him straight. "Your mother."

Neal felt his face pale. His mom? There was no way in hell he would ever go to her when Ellen had been a hundred times more of a mother to him than his own ever was. "No."

Clearly expecting this response, Peter sighed. "Neal, she's our only resource right now. She knew Ellen when you two were placed into WitSec. There's no harm in seeing if she can tell us anything."

"No, there - there has to be another option."

"There isn't. If there were, we would use it."

Neal bit his lip, feeling conflicted. Whether he liked it or not, the FBI would track his mother down and find out what she knew. The problem Neal had was that one way or another, he'd end up having to speak to her because he knew she wouldn't talk to the feds. "I haven't seen her in almost twenty years, Peter. I don't even know where she is."

Peter straightened the disheveled stack of files on the right corner of his desk. "We know where she is."

***

His mother had moved to Washington, D.C. nearly five years ago. It had taken an extensive amount of persuading to gain this information from the marshals, and they refused to reveal her name. So with only an address to work with, Peter, Diana, Jones, and a reluctant Neal set off on a four-hour drive to the nation's capital. 

"You could at least make an effort to smile," Peter remarked from the driver's seat of the Taurus, side-glancing at Neal every five minutes. It was very annoying. 

In the passenger's seat, Neal was stoic with his palms flat on his knees. Before embarking on the journey, he'd successfully convinced the team that his mother would never agree to a meeting with a group of FBI agents. However, his plan to avoid a run-in with the woman backfired when Peter all but forced him into showing up at her doorstep while the Municipal Utilities van eavesdropped from the next street over. It would be quite the mother-son reunion. 

At Neal's silence, Peter huffed. "Just be grateful you're not riding in the van for four hours with Jones and Diana."

Neal hadn't really been listening to Peter's attempts at making conversation during the car ride. Instead, he was trying and failing to think of what he would say to his mom when he arrived. What did her new house even look like? Why had she moved? Was she living on her own? Did she look any different, or would she be the same?

All of these questions along with dozens more had been circling in his mind. He knew he should be focusing on Ellen and the case, but he couldn't help it; she was his mother, for Christ's sake. He was curious. 

His stomach lurched with the car as it came to a stop at the end of a pleasant-looking street. This was a family neighborhood, Neal noticed. For someone like his mother, this was an odd place of inhabitance. 

Neal's hands curled into tight fists to stop the trembling. "I really don't want to do this, Peter."

Peter must have detected his apprehension, for he placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Don't be nervous. All we need you to do is ask her about Ellen, okay? That's it. You'll be fine."

"No, you don't -" Neal cut himself off, exhaling in agitation. "It's not gonna be that easy."

Leaning in closer, Peter spoke quietly. "If you want to find Ellen's murderer, Neal, you need to do this." He reached toward the backseat and retrieved the usual gold watch that Neal always wore while undercover. Except this time, he wasn't undercover. Neal wasn't playing any other role besides his own today. He was supposed to be himself. "The van's right around the corner," he continued; then, with one more gentle clap on his back, "You'll be alright."

And then Neal was walking down the sidewalk, toward the house he'd been directed to as Peter drove around to join the van. 

The house, though small, was practically picture perfect, with a white picket fence and freshly-cut grass and vibrant-colored flowers. A perfect family lived here, and the closer he approached the more doubtful he grew that his mother lived here. 

He was on the threshold now. His arm felt detached from his body as he lifted it to knock thrice on the burgundy front door. His heart was beating sporadically as he waited.

The door opened moments later, and - there she was. 

She was different, but still completely the same. Her hair was still blonde, for example, except shorter now - just brushing her shoulders. Her eyes were still blue, like his, but they weren't hollow and distant anymore - they were full of life. She was happy here, Neal could see it. 

She stared at him, wide-eyed, in shock. Neal was the one who broke the silence. "Hey." 

"Hi," she breathed, recognition seeping into her features. "Uh - come in."

Neal hesitantly followed her small figure into the house, where he took in his surroundings. The inside, if possible, was just as perfect as the outside. He passed the small kitchen on his right, where everything was in place; the refrigerator, to his surprise, was decorated with alphabet magnets and a child's drawings. Just beyond was the living room; there was a cream, L-shaped sectional with an adjacent matching armchair. In the center was a square coffee table, a vase of flowers on top; and in the front sat a fair-sized television. On the mantel above the screen, Neal caught sight of various family photos - many of which included his mother.

She'd started a new life here. She had a new family, and Neal tried hard to ignore the dull sting he felt in his chest at the realization. 

"Would you, uh - would you like any coffee? Tea?" She asked over her shoulder from the kitchen as Neal remained in the doorway. 

"I'm fine, thank you." 

She led them into the living room, where Neal sat on the edge of the armchair and his mother on the sofa. She offered a small smile, "So, what should I call you?"

After being in Witness Protection for so many years, Neal didn't question this; he didn't know her name, either. She had probably changed it since she moved here. "Neal," he told her.

The smile grew, communicating to him what words didn't need to: she was glad that her son was going by the name she'd given him. "Call me Emily."

Neal only nodded; being here only furthered his loss for words. He'd momentarily forgotten why he'd come here.

Emily lifted and took a sip of the tea she'd prepared. "How are you, Neal?"

"I'm good. How've you been?" This felt so wrong, making small talk with his mother after eighteen years of absence. 

"I'm doing well." There was a gleam of pride in her eyes, "I'm almost five years sober."

Neal forced a smile. "That's great." He was happy for her, he really was; but all he could think about now was the alcoholic she used to be, and how affording liquor had been more important to her than providing for her son. He motioned to her wedding ring, "I see you got married?"

"Yeah," she nodded, twisting the band around her finger. "Yeah, his name's Brian. He has a kid from his first marriage, but it works. We're really happy."

He knew it was true, but Neal just couldn't believe these words coming out of her mouth right now. This new home, her new family... It was like he never existed. The hurt and betrayal he was feeling was like a sharp stab to his chest, but he didn't let it show in his expression. Instead he dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, "Anyway, um - I'm here because Ellen died last week. She was shot."

Her mouth gaped slightly in surprise. "My goodness, that's horrible," she whispered. "I haven't seen her in -"

"Eighteen years." He hadn't meant to be harsh, but the words escaped before he could stop them. "Emily, I just came here to see if you would know who could be involved in her murder."

Neal watched as she recovered from his sharp tone, but he was far from remorseful. "Well, it's - it's been a while, as you know, but." She exhaled and bit her lip in thought, "If I were you, I'd look into the Flynn family."

He quirked an eyebrow, repeating the name for Peter, Jones and Diana in the van. "The Flynn's?"

Emily nodded. "Ellen pursued them for years, back when she was working with your father. They're bad people, Neal. Dangerous."

"She never caught them?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is that Ellen was after them and that they're not afraid to use guns."

"Okay," he clasped his hands together. "Thank you, that's really helpful."

She opened her mouth to respond, but then Neal registered the sound of a car engine pulling into the driveway. When Emily heard it, Neal watched as she transformed completely in front of him. She closed herself off; her eyes were cold, her body was tense, and she was suddenly frantic. "You need to go," she whispered, rising hastily from the couch. 

Neal blinked, confused. "What?"

"Brian's home, you need to go." She tugged at his arm, and he flinched away from her foreign touch. 

"You...want me to leave?" This time he didn't disguise the pain in his voice. What the hell happened? Just moments ago everything was fine, now she was practically pushing him out the door. 

"They can't see you here - go out this way." He felt her hand on his back as she guided him to the side door. He met her eyes one last time, and his heart sank and the shame he saw there. His mother was ashamed of him? "Go," she whispered again, and Neal had no other choice but to slip out the back as Emily rushed to be with her new family instead of her first. 

His head was spinning as he made his way to the van. When he first arrived, Emily had seemed almost happy to see him - almost interested in his life. She was helpful with Ellen, too. But 'almost' hadn't been enough, because she was forcing him to leave when her new life beckoned. Her new life without him. 

The van came into view, but he lingered outside for a few moments longer while he regained his cool composure. 

He shouldn't be surprised, though - right? Of course she reinvented herself; it was silly of him to think she still considered him family after nearly two decades of silence between them. In fact, he had expected her to be distant. He'd been prepared to be greeted by a stranger, because that's who she was to him after so long. He just hadn't expected her to be ashamed of him. 

Once he felt he'd collected himself, Neal climbed into the van and was greeted with three identical expressions: sorrow.

Jones was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence. "That was good, Caffrey," he cleared his throat. "The Flynn's have a strong connection to Ellen."

"Yeah," Diana agreed. "Good job."

Peter, however, wrapped his hand around Neal's bicep and took him back outside. He faced Neal with his hands on his hips, looking intently into his eyes. "You okay?"

Neal rubbed his hand over the left side of his jaw. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay."

Pressing his lips into a line, he fell silent for a while. "I'm sorry I forced you into that. I had no idea it was that bad."

Neal waved him off, "Don't be. It's been twenty years - I hardly know that woman anyway. I turned my life around, and she did, too."

"That doesn't make it okay, what she did."

"It's fine, Peter. Really."

For a few moments longer they remained there, Neal still wrapping his head around the encounter with his mother, and Peter probably still feeling sorry for him. One of the things Neal hated most was people pitying him, but it seemed to work out that he earned more pity than anyone because so many horrible things happened to him. He also hated when people asked if he was okay, but he wasn't about to tell Peter that. 

"Come over for dinner tonight," Peter said suddenly. "El and I would love it if you joined us."

Even though he was only offering because he felt bad for him, Neal smiled. "Thanks, Peter. I'd like that."

And that evening, Neal had a lovely time with the only two people in the world who he knew confidently cared about him. No, they weren't of his own flesh and blood; but they were family. The real kind.


End file.
